


XXII. Summer's Gone

by causeimdifferent



Series: Wanted [22]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:35:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/causeimdifferent/pseuds/causeimdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The London Season comes to an end.<br/>The temperatures are changing.</p><p>And Philip tries to keep Thomas warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	XXII. Summer's Gone

„I want to lie in the grass with you and listen to the summer wind rustling through the leaves.“

Thomas snuggles closer. “Mmmmmh”, he hums into Philip’s chest: “That would be so nice.”

It is the last night of the London Season.

 

“Don’t go, Thomas.”

Tomorrow all will be over. Departure for Downton at 2 p.m.

Thomas presses his lips against Philip’s breastbone, and leaves them there for quite a while.

“Stay with me”, Philip says and each word pierces like an arrow through Thomas’s heart.

“Let’s not talk about this now.”

Philip buries his face deeper into Thomas’s hair: “When, if not now, Thomas?”

Sadness and hope and urgency pervades Philip’s voice and everything he does. Like stroking Thomas’s back and kissing his head.

 _I want to stay with you more than anything_.

“Philip, I can’t just … leave.”

“Why not?” Philip purrs, “We’ll find you another job around here.”

“You’ve said that before.”

 

They lie in silence.

Their breaths synchronizing.

Philip keeps stroking Thomas’s back.

Now and then he puts a peck on his head.

 

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

Bedroom curtains are dancing in the wind.

 

“Not being able to hold you just once that past week was torture, Thomas.”

 _Yes. It was_.

Even if you had just a tiny bite of what you were starving for, having to go without it once more _is_ torture.

Not having Philip close for an entire week was agony.

But Thomas could not make it. Impossible. The Crawleys suddenly socializing like mad, rendered him caught up in responsibilities til the dead of night. Sinking into bed worn out and weary, filled with longing for Philip and still racking his brains for a rescue plan for Jimmy.

This night, finally, the excitement at Grantham House had calmed. The family had retreated early and Thomas could slip out “for a walk” again at last.

What would having to go without seeing and touching and feeling Philip for entire months be like?

Would things be the same between them when they met again?

Or would there be just another version of “one swallow doesn’t make a summer” awaiting him?

After months and months of hope and longing.

 

“Have you never thought about leaving service?”

Thomas gives a humorless laugh.

“Every single bloody day.”

“Then why are you still doing it?”

“I’ve tried to get out. Always fell flat on my face.”

“Well, learn from your mistakes and better luck next time.”

Thomas shifts to fumble for Philip’s cock.

But Philip gets him by the wrist and pulls his hand away.

“No, Thomas, we are going to talk about this now.”

Thomas rolls onto his back: “This is our last night”, he wails.

“Exactly. But it needn’t be!”

“I should leave now. Better to make a painful break than draw out the agony.”

“If you’re serious about this you deserve to be smacked.”

“I’m up for it.”

Philip sighs.

“Seriously, Thomas. _Butler_ \- that’s what it’s gonna be for Thomas Barrow in this life? The ultimate goal?”

_The ultimate goal. Living the Charles Carson life._

Thomas’s lungs shrink at the mere thought. Not a life but a slow suffocating death.

“Service is my safest bet”, he manages.

“Nothing is a safe bet, Thomas. Times are changing.”

 

Thomas stares into the darkness above.

“If you had a job opportunity here would you stay and move in with me?”

_Yes._

“If, if, if …”, Thomas groans.

“Would you?”

_God. YES._

“I didn’t hear you”, Philip says quietly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Philip draws a sharp breath.

“Are you enjoying yourself, being cruel?”

_No._

_No I don’t._

 

“Are you not tired of living in other people’s houses? Are you not tired of being a bloody slave?” Philip exclaims.

“Just bloody shut up and fuck me”, Thomas bellows.

Philip sits up straight, glaring at him, stunned.

Thomas closes his eyes.

Not to see Philip’s distraught face.

 

“I’d rather make love to you.” Philip says, and each word is soft and warm and makes Thomas want to kiss Philip.

So bad.

“I’d rather fancy a rough break-up fuck. That worked so perfectly well last time [see notes*].”

“You so don’t mean what you are saying.” Philip’s voice is cracking.

 

“Who are we fooling, Philip?” Thomas barks, “Don't you remember us saying good-bye all those years ago? All the plans, the promises …! What did it mean in the end? Nothing.”

_I can’t live with hope that turns to smoke. Not again. Not anymore._

Philip reaches for Thomas’s arms: “Please, Thomas. Let’s not waste our second chance, I beg you.”

Thomas presses his palms against is eyes.

“Finding Jimmy for you was still not enough, was it?”

Thomas shakes his head, fighting against the lump in his throat.

_No. No, that isn’t it. Not at all. That was more than I could’ve ever asked for._

_As is, in fact, everything you did this summer and everything you are._

“If he comes to you, will you help him?” Thomas croaks.

Philip heaves an agonized sigh: “Take a guess.”

“Most people would try to destroy a rival, why don’t you?”

“Why would I want to destroy someone you care about? You’d hate me for it – and you hating me is the last thing I desire. Besides - I would not want you to be with me if you’d rather be with him. So I prefer to keep him around until you know for sure.”

 _I_ do _know for sure._

“Thank you”, Thomas whispers. At least Jimmy has a haven, if he wants to.

Thomas gets up from the bed and starts to dress.

“Are you bloody serious?” Philip’s features are frozen with shock, glazed by the moonlight.

No longer shining with soft milky tint, but with a shade of blue, all clear and sharp and cutting.

Thomas nods.

Summer is over.

 

Autumn.

 

As the door falls into the lock behind Thomas a crisp wind hunts dry leaves across the street.

Raindrops burst on Thomas’s cheeks.

He is drenched in seconds.

 

Thomas is freezing to the bone as he reaches Grantham House.

Without feeling it.

Breaking up with Philip was like putting a blade to his wrists.

Life is flowing out of Thomas.

Quicker than he expected.

_Turn round. Go back. Tell him._

_Tell him that you love him._

Too late.

 

The departure is a blur.

Six hours train ride that Thomas can barely remember.

He’s functioning.

Only just.

A shell.

 

Thomas’s room is freezing cold and grey.

Everything is freezing cold and grey.

 

When you need to numb out so much that you can’t even cry anymore, just to survive, all is lost.

All is lost.

Philip. Jimmy.

All is lost.

 

Lifeless leaves, wind tears them from the branches.

Trees turn into skeletons.

 

The grandfather clock tick-tocking in the hall.

Now that Jimmy is gone, Thomas tends to it again.

Time is healing everything.

So they say.

Ice flowers creeping up the windows.

 

Even in front of his fireplace Thomas won't get warm.

A letter in his hand:

“Thomas, please just let me know that you are good. Come back. I love you & I always will. P.”

“I’m fine.”

Nothing is.

Flames lick on the paper’s shade of green.

Now black.

Now ashes.

 

“Mr. Barrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Carson.”

“A phone call for you. It seems urgent.”

 

“Who is it?”

“Thomas, you must come. Now.”

“Jimmy! What …?”

“Now, Thomas! Now! It’s Philip.”

**Author's Note:**

> * That's my headcanon: Thomas returned after storming out of Philip's bedroom in S1E1 and they had a last sexual encounter (see my fic "One Last Time").


End file.
